Fever
by Treewater
Summary: A wounded Ezio goes to Leonardo's shop for some care to avoid raising suspicion amongst Venice's doctors. His wound isn't the only thing that's burning, though. LeoEzio EzioLeo Leo/Ezio Ezio/Leo
1. Fever

**A/N: **Just some Leo/Ezio I whipped up. I really like the way Leo gets over-excited about things. He's so cute. X3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Assassin's Creed, but I wouldn't mind having Leonardo for a night.

**Fever**

There was heat in Ezio's shoulder, but that was all. Every other part of him felt so cold, he could categorize his body by color. First, there was the bluish glacier white, which was what most of him felt like. Then there was the searing red of his shoulder, whence blood was trickling in a quiet, burning stream. He supposed that it burned so badly (really, it was its own pain) because of how cold the rest of him was, but the rest of him didn't _hurt_. Therefore, more than anything, the heat in his shoulder concerned him, though he also knew he should be concerned about his overall temperature. He had, after all, been swimming in the canals during a Venetian winter, with guards searching the banks. He had been underwater for the better part of two hours. Thankfully the darkness of that water had obscured his blood and left no trail.

Under normal circumstances, Ezio would have taken the guards easily, but as it was he could not move his arm, nor reach the arrow that was both preventing the movement and causing the burning sensation in the first place. He'd had to wait until they were gone, thinking he had drowned, to haul himself out of the water. It was not a pleasant experience. While the air was above freezing, it was cold enough to discourage Ezio from offering too much of his body to the wind. He gasped and coughed as he pulled himself upon the bank. From there he mustered his energy and shivered his way toward Leonardo's workshop.

When he reached it, he pounded upon the door with a shaking fist. While waiting for Leonardo to come, he placed his hands over his face in an attempt to still his body. It did not work. All the cold went to his teeth, and he bit his tongue chattering them.

Leonardo opened the door after what seemed like an eternity. He looked at Ezio in surprise. "You look half-dead!" he said. "Come in, please. Your lips are blue. I'll get you something hot to drink."

Ezio felt like laughing, because Leonardo had not even noticed the arrow sticking out of his shoulder, and that was the reason Ezio had come. Maybe if he were able to take it out he could risk going to the doctor, but with it in, it was too incriminating, and so he had fled to the only sanctuary he knew.

Ezio slipped past Leonardo into the workshop, and only when Ezio showed his back did Leonardo push him inside roughly and begin to talk about his shoulder. "God Almighty, what happened? Sit down, please. In that chair. No, the one without a back. What happened, Ezio?" He began to rush to gather medical supplies. Ezio opened his mouth to speak, but then Leonardo swore and called to someone harshly. "Enrico, get Ezio some hot lemon water. You like lemon water, don't you, Ezio?" He came to Ezio's side and began to peel back the cloth around his shoulder. He pulled it too harshly and Ezio winced. "I'm so sorry, my friend. Tell me what happened, please. Let me borrow your knife. Tell me what happened."

Ezio explained the situation as best he could. He left out the burning, but told about the cold. Leonardo was in the process of cutting away the cloth coiled around the arrow. It had soaked up some blood. Its removal pulled bits of coagulation away and the blood started fresh. Ezio felt it as a ray of heat. It felt welcome, however, so despite Leonardo's apologies, he did not mention anything.

"It's so cold," he said.

"Your skin here is very hot," Leonardo said.

"I am very cold," Ezio said.

Leonardo put the back of his hand to Ezio's forehead. "What a difference," he said. "Enrico, where is that lemon water?"

"Here, Maestro." A boy with dark hair came and delivered a steaming cup to the table. He quickly left again.

Leonardo handed the cup to Ezio. "Perhaps you should drink this before I work on your shoulder," he said.

"Perhaps you are right," Ezio said. He held the cup and over the course of the next few minutes drank its bitter contents down.

Leonardo wrote at his desk all the while. He occasionally glanced up at Ezio and looked at him with concern. Ezio was finishing the drink when Leonardo said, "I'm afraid you'll get a bad fever. You should spend a few days here."

Ezio shook his head. "I appreciate your hospitality, Leonardo, but I don't have the luxury of a few days. I have another target to kill."

Leonardo stood up. "Really, Ezio. How useful will you be when you're trembling so badly you cut yourself with your own weapons? At least rest here for the night. Tell me how you feel in the morning."

"All right."

"Now let me get that arrow out." He came near Ezio again. "If I rip your robe, you should be able to remove it and get into something dryer. I have a extra shirts and blankets." Absently he put his hand to Ezio's forehead again. "Still cold," he said, and then touching Ezio's shoulder, "and burning. What is this, Ezio? Why does your skin feel so hot here?"

"Is it infected?" Ezio turned his head to look. An infection would keep him down for days, maybe even weeks. Such time he could not afford to lose.

"It looks swollen. It might very well be infected, especially since you've been in the water so long. Can you move your arm?"

"No. I was thinking if you pulled out the arrow, I might be able to."

"This is a very deep wound, Ezio. I can't pull out the arrow until I establish how bad it is." He moved around to Ezio's front and reached to feel around his neck. Ezio felt uncomfortable, and pulled away before Leonardo could touch him. Leonardo looked down at him and opened his hands in exasperation. "Listen, Ezio. You have to trust me, all right? There are places around your neck that get swollen when you have an infection." He gestured to his own neck, near his jaw. "Will you let me check?"

Ezio nodded, and Leonardo proceeded. His fingers felt hot in comparison to Ezio's cold skin. Ezio felt heat rise to his face and wasn't sure he found it soothing.

"It's hard to tell," Leonardo was saying absently. Then he regained himself and said, "All right. I'm going to remove the arrow now. Be calm. The arrows the guards use here are inexpensive and won't stick."

Ezio calmed himself as he was told, but the sharp removal of the arrow still sent a shock of pain running through him. He gave a sharp cry and tried to move away.

"It's done, Ezio, it's done," Leonardo said. "How do you feel?"

"I would like to lie down," Ezio said. Weariness was suddenly beginning to rub at his arms, and Leonardo seemed to hear it in his voice.

"Would you like me to have a doctor come here?" he asked.

"That would be most appreciated," Ezio said.

"You might want to remove your assassin's robes, then," Leonardo said, "so that this place remains safe for you. Enrico"-he gestured to the boy who was lingering by the fireplace-"will bring you some fresh clothes. Perhaps just a shirt and some pants." He walked up to Enrico and placed some money in his hand. "This is for your hard work today," he said. "Return to your mother after you find Ezio some clothes and bedding."

"Thank you, Maestro!" Enrico said, and grinned.

Leonardo came back to Ezio and crouched before him. "You look like a wreck," he said with a small smile. "I will be back soon." He stood up and patted Ezio's arm, took a heavy cloak from the wall, and left. Ezio could only look at where Leonardo had touched him. The burning in his shoulder no longer seemed to matter, because his arm was scalding. He felt the unwelcome heat rise to his face again.

"Do you have a fever, Ser Ezio?" Enrico asked, coming forward.

"Yes, I think so," Ezio said, but his gaze remained fixed on his arm.

"Follow me, then, to the guest room, and I'll set you up with some warm blankets and a cool cloth."

Ezio looked at the door through which Leonardo had gone and then pulled himself to his feet to follow Enrico.


	2. Norway

**A/N:** So, I'm just going to give you guys little snippets as they come to me, seeing as all of you asked for more and this dream sequence came to me as I was thinking about how to continue the story. In your reviews, please tell me where you would like to see this story go, because I'm pretty much out of ideas except for what happens immediately after this. And no big picture ideas, please. Specific scenes. This story might just end up being a series of one-shots or something, that go together. Much love! (By the way, Norvegia is Italian for Norway.)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Assassin's Creed. Nor do I think Leonardo looks like a polar bear. However, I think this would be an awesome scene to play in the game. Delirium rocks. :D

**Fever  
Norway**

The guest room is cold, and the air smells salty. Ezio sits up in the bed and looks at the window. It is much bigger than he remembers it being before. It extends from the floor to the ceiling and looks out upon a gray ocean with gray skies. Neither of these things belong to Venezia. The tips of all the waves are white. Ezio can see shadows beneath them, huge animals called whales that he's read about but never seen. He's never been far enough out in the sea before. He's been told they are like dolphins, only larger. There are dolphins in this gray ocean, too, though. He sees them dancing over the water. They are black and white and joyful.

The window is open. That's why it is cold. It's so cold that Ezio can see ice caps in the water. There are so many and they are so large that they could almost be considered a land mass, and he can see white bears on them, another animal he's read about but never seen. There are birds, too.

Ezio leans against the window frame and looks down. He wonders when Leonardo moved his workshop to a cliff, because there's nothing but the ocean down below him. There isn't even a shore.

A cold gust of air suddenly rips into the room. It tears down the curtains and kicks up the sheets on the bed. Ezio shudders. The air grabs him in his vulnerability and pulls him down, out of the window. He's falling for what seems like months, reaching for the window like he could go back to it if he tried hard enough, but the frigid waters are hitting his back and now he's underneath the waves.

He struggles to break the surface again, but something is holding onto his legs. He's being weighted down, dragged farther away from the light. He reaches out, clutching at his throat, choking on the water pouring in through his nose. He tries to call out. This is Leonardo's house. Leonardo should be able to hear him. But all that escapes his mouth is a huge bubble which quickly rises, and he can't breathe.

Someone says, "Stop for a moment. Let him go."

His legs are released. He kicks wildly and he's aware of creatures swimming around him. They are keeping their distance from him. He thinks they are intelligent. One of them must have spoken. These northern animals are frightening. He doesn't want to be where they are.

He manages to find air and he coughs and then he breathes. He's clutching something warm, and because the rest of him is shaking so badly he doesn't want to let go. He'll get hypothermia here. He'll die without this warmth. His jaw is moving up and down so quickly he's afraid to move his tongue. The clacking of his teeth is louder than the waves and the birds. His lips are numb, and it's already becoming harder to swim. But this piece of warm driftwood he's found is keeping him afloat. It is his only chance, so he clings to it.

There is no shore anywhere. His window is gone. The ice caps are gone. He does not know what to do.

"Can I start again?"

Ezio jerks around. Where is that voice coming from?

"Look, he seems to be aware. Perhaps we should try to warm him up first?"

"He will be sweating soon."

Ezio doesn't believe the voice that says such things. If he sweats it will be the sweat of death and the ocean will add its salt and nutrients to its everlasting brine. He puts his cheek against the driftwood. It calms him slightly, but the calm doesn't last.

"You hold him by the forearms. You, by the knees."

The driftwood turns to mud in his fingers and slips away beneath the water. In blind panic he puts his face down to try to see it in the black. That is his life dissolving away! He surfaces to breathe again, and suddenly a bear is dragging him by the wrists onto a small ice cap, which has reappeared. Ezio is terrified that he will be eaten. But the bear doesn't do anything except dig its claws into Ezio's lower arms and hold him to the ice. A whale comes and grabs hold of Ezio's legs with its teeth. There is heat. There is blood. Ezio grits his teeth, tries to coil into himself, but the bear and the whale are holding him too tightly, and the most he can do is rise upon his elbows and make noises of frustration.

"Be calm, Ezio."

Ezio tries, but salt is now being poured into a wound on his back. He cannot help but scream. He struggles underneath the bear. He feels his knee give under the pressure of the whale. He needs to hold onto something rather than being held himself. He is burning everywhere from the ice and wind and salt and tears are streaming from his eyes. His hands don't work. He uses all the strength in his abdomen to pull himself forward. Some of the salt spills over him. It is actually a liquid, which quickly dries. The whale, surprised, is pulled onto the ice cap. Ezio reaches toward one of the bear's paws with his mouth. He is going to bite the bear and free himself. But all he gets is a mouthful of fur, and no matter how hard he bites down on that, fur will not bleed. It feels oddly like cloth, but Ezio does not dwell on this. Liquid salt is being poured into him again, and he screams again through the bear's fur.

There is a part that is especially painful, and he manages to yank his foot out of the whale's mouth and kick it sharply in the eye. The whale gives an eerie shriek and disappears into the water. Ezio struggles. Something tears. Someone swears. Ezio is no longer biting at the bear. He is, in fact, the one swearing. His words are sluggish and slurred, but he is telling the bear and the whale in vicious Italian that their mothers are whores and they are bastard children. He tells them their fathers had sex with sheep. He tells them their fathers had sex with _them_. He spits and snarls and struggles with all his might, but it is no use.

The whale gets angry, but is calmed by the one now investigating Ezio's wound.

"Look at my face! It's bleeding! And this shit he's saying about my padre!"

Ezio is so confused and his strength is beginning to fail him. Despite the pain he is beginning to lose his grip on the reality that surrounds him: the sea, the salt air, the animals. He doesn't understand why the whale is speaking Italian. He has heard that the people of the far north speak a complicated language with words impossible to pronounce. He doesn't understand why this one knows Italian. Ezio is so confused. He moans and puts his head down on his arm. The bear keeps him from rolling onto his back.

"I'm looking at him right now, sorry. And can you blame him?"

For a while all Ezio can hear is the sound of the waves, and occasionally some words will come to him.

"He hasn't moved in a while."

"He's exhausted."

"Will he be okay?"

"The water here is terrible for wounds. It's all polluted."

Ezio hasn't noticed any pollution, just the cold.

"He could have rolled in shit and been better off. It was a good thing you came to me when you did."

The bear heaves a long sigh. Ezio manages to lift his head. He looks at the bear, and the bear looks down at him.

"Why, hello there, Ezio," the bear says. Its voice is very familiar.

"I'm bleeding," Ezio says. His mouth hangs open. His jaw feels very loose, as does his head. He is surprised that he can talk. His muscles no longer seem to work.

"Yes," says the bear. "Don't bite your tongue."

"Why?" Ezio says. It's becoming difficult for his neck to carry all the weight of his head. He rests his chin down on the ice, and this closes his mouth. For some reason the ice is very soft.

"What do you mean?"

Ezio rolls his head to the side so that he can continue talking. "I don't know," he says. Then he frowns. "The ice caps are melting. Aren't you scared?"

The bear looks confused. "What?"

"Is it summer or winter?"

"It's winter, Ezio."

"Then why is the ice melting?" He's worried because he doesn't want to go back into the water, and this bear is the only friend he has right now. He doesn't want it to drown either. He feels frustrated because the bear still doesn't understand. It looks at him in confusion. Ezio feels himself wanting to cry.

"Maybe spring is coming," says the bear.

"This far north there is no spring," Ezio says, and for a moment everything pauses.

The whale is lingering at the edge of the ice cap. "Where are you, Ezio?" it asks.

"Norvegia," Ezio says. "I think. You're so stupid, you don't even know your own country."

The burning comes back, but Ezio has little energy to struggle now. His hands flex. He grits his teeth. He makes a fair amount of noise and swears tiredly once or twice. His body, however, remains relatively still.

"Are we finished yet?" asks the whale.

"You will be," Ezio says.

The whale tells him to shut up. "I wasn't talking to you," it says.

"All we need to do is bandage him and turn him over," says the voice Ezio can't see. "Let the wound drain while he's on his back."

"You never said if he'll be okay or not."

"I think so. Just keep an eye on him. Common sense should tell you what to do."

"Right."

Something is wrapped around Ezio's torso and shoulder in a methodical manner, and he is no longer in so much pain. He is tired, and his battle with the elements has nearly destroyed him. He much prefers targets he can kill.

The bear releases one of Ezio's arms and puts a paw on his back. "It's done, Ezio, it's done," it says. It gently grabs him by the wrists again and turns him over. The whale does the same with his legs. Ezio does not protest. He can't even move on his own. He lies with his neck exposed and sweating. His breathing is harsh. The sun has come out through the clouds and its heat is stifling.

Ezio feels a cool cloth wipe at his face. It scrubs at the tear stains on his cheeks and the dried water he must have coughed up when the bear saved him from drowning. It feels so good that Ezio opens his mouth and makes a tiny noise. For a moment, the cloth stops. The bear laughs and then the cloth moves on, to Ezio's neck and front. Then it is gone, all too soon. Ezio wishes he could say something to make it come back.

"I'll be amazed if he isn't disoriented when he wakes up," Ezio hears. "Norvegia? That is true delirium. Call me if he gets worse, like if his fever spikes or his hallucinations come back."

"Thank you, doctor," the bear says. He says it to the water. The whale leaves. The ice cap becomes a shore with sand, and then a bed. The bear gets off of it and touches Ezio's arm. "Do you need water?"

"What?" Ezio asks. He's barely audible.

"Are you thirsty?"

"No."

"All right. I'll take you back to Venezia now. Call for Leonardo if you need anything."

Then the bear leaves.


	3. The Bear

**A/N: **Why is Italian so different than French? I can't figure out the grammar. Nuuuuu. Me trying to work out Italian = fail. If you're Italian or speak it, I sincerely apologize. The Italian in here means (supposedly) "Your fathers fucked you when you were children! Is this revenge? Are you excited?" Also, I apologize for any confusion resulting from pronouns. I hate it when there are all guys or girls in a scene, because it gets so confusing and repetitive at the same time.

I know what's going to happen next chapter, but would still appreciate suggestions as to scenes you have in mind. Much love!

Special thanks to DreamerAngel17 for suggesting this chapter. I had originally planned on doing it but had forgotten. Thanks for reminding me!

**Edit:** So, I started writing the next chapter because I have nothing to do, but it's not going anywhere. Please help! And sorry that this little update will pop up as a new chapter. :(

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Assassin's Creed.

**Fever  
The Bear**

Leonardo came back to his workshop with a doctor and his assistant with him. It had taken him nearly two hours to find one who would make the house call, as every time he explained the situation he would be sent on his way with a hasty excuse. He discovered after several frantic tries that keywords such as "strong" and "wounded" rather than "injured" were off-putting. It was the fourth doctor he found that was finally willing to say "Yes, of course. It will be more expensive, but I have an assistant who can help to hold your friend down."

Leonardo thanked him with every compliment he could find and led the way, all the while providing the details for which the doctor asked.

"You say he was in the water? We should hurry."

"Why?" Leonardo asked, though he picked up the pace.

"Depending upon which canal he was in, his wound could be sparkling clean or his body could be on its way to shutting down already." This was concerning, to say the least.

When Leonardo opened the door to his workshop, he saw that the fire in the main fireplace had burned down and the air was already becoming chilly. He thought about how cold Ezio must be, and hurried to the guest room. Enrico had set up another fire there and had given Ezio plenty of blankets. The air was warm but the room was dark, so Leonardo lit some lanterns near the headboards of the bed. The doctor and his assistant began to remove their equipment from their bags: alcohol, bandages, medication, tweezers, blades, thread, and salves. While they were busying themselves with this, Leonardo sat on the edge of the bed.

Ezio was curled into a tight ball, with his knees drawn up to his elbows and his hands tucked underneath the pillow. He had three thick blankets, all pulled up to his nose, but Leonardo could still see him trembling. Even Ezio's breath was shaking as it came and went. His skin was extremely hot to the touch, but he wasn't sweating. His face was flushed. The expression on it was almost conscious, like he wanted to be awake but couldn't be. As Leonardo watched, he took his hand out from under the pillow and pulled the covers more tightly around his shoulders. His body calmed for a few moments before it began to shake again.

"His fever is very high," Leonardo said. The doctor was at the nightstand filling several syringes with alcohol. When he was finished he set them next to the tweezers and a scalpel.

"He must have been in a bad canal," said the doctor. "Let's pull back the covers and take a look."

The assistant and Leonardo pulled them back at the same time, past Ezio's feet so that they might grab him if he began to fight. Leonardo had warned that he would.

Ezio flinched when the covers were drawn away. He was only wearing some of Leonardo's old work pants, which were covered in paint stains. He curled more tightly around himself and began to rub at his arms to bring warmth to them. The doctor was peering hard at his wounded shoulder. Leonardo looked as well. The wound itself didn't look so bad. It was swollen a bit and it reminded him of a sun the way long red rays were extending out from it in all directions. It was still bleeding. The blood was mixed with something that made him think of oil.

The doctor turned to his assistant. "He needs to be on his stomach. Take his legs, will you?"

The assistant did as he was told. Ezio tried to kick him away. His eyes slit open for a few seconds and Leonardo caught a glimpse of the pupils, dilated as they slid from one side to the other and back again. Ezio reached out and dug his hands in the sheets. He made a sound halfway between a groan and a cough.

"Stop for a moment," Leonardo said. "Let him go."

The assistant did so. "What are you waiting for?" he asked.

Ezio's eyes were still slightly open, and the pupils were still sliding back and forth. Leonardo had pulled himself up on the bed to sit near the pillows and provide assistance; Ezio now reached out again and grabbed at his leg. He was coughing and shaking so badly that Leonardo could feel the tremors all the way up through his knee. He let Ezio hold onto him and rest his cheek on his shin, because he realized he could do little else until the doctor gave the order.

The doctor looked impatient. He had taken off his mask and set it on the floor so that he could see better. With it off, Leonardo could see him scowling. "Can I start again?" he asked.

Ezio gave a sudden jerk of the head. He almost sat up, but weakness made him fall back on Leonardo's knee and put a hand to his own forehead.

"Look," Leonardo said. "He seems to be aware. Perhaps we should try to warm him up first?"

"He will be sweating soon," the doctor said. "You"-he nodded to Leonardo-"hold him by the forearms. You"-the assistant-"by the knees. I'm going to flush his wound."

Leonardo extricated himself from Ezio's grasp. Ezio scrabbled among the sheets for a moment before Leonardo managed to grab him by the wrists and haul him into a good position on his stomach. He put his weight near Ezio's elbows and held him while the assistant wrapped his arms tightly around Ezio's knees. Ezio didn't struggle so much as try to pull away, but the assistant was strong, and even if Leonardo wasn't, Ezio was in no state to fight.

"You have to be calm," Leonardo said. "Just be calm, Ezio. It will be over soon." He said this because the doctor was holding an alcohol syringe over his patient's back. He was going to shoot the alcohol into the wound, and the pain was going to be intense.

When it started, Ezio screamed, his face toward the bed, his hair touching the sheets. Sweat began to drip from his nose. He began to struggle. There was a loud pop and then he sobbed once, while by his knees the assistant blushed and said, "It clicked out, but it's back in now. It wasn't my fault."

Ezio used the momentary loosening of the assistant's grip to pull himself forward, closer to Leonardo. It seemed to cause him great pain to do so. The doctor missed shooting the alcohol into the wound, and he stopped to wait for Ezio to calm down again before he continued.

Ezio was panting. His forehead was touching the cloth of Leonardo's sleeve. Leonardo watched with fascination as Ezio reached out and grabbed the cloth in his teeth.

The doctor chuckled. "He's found himself a wooden spoon," he said, and immediately began to flush the wound again. But he had not given his assistant ample time to make safe adjustments to his grip on Ezio's legs. Ezio therefore found an opportunity to draw up his foot and smash it back into the assistant's eye. The assistant fell to the floor. There was a cut on his cheek. Leonardo, however, still had a strong hold, and the doctor was able to finish his second syringe. Then he placed it into the wound to remove the liquid that wasn't supposed to be there. Leonardo happened to see what was coming out. It was pale and thick, shot with swirls of red and clear. He felt nausea seize him, and he looked away.

Ezio screamed again and suddenly the sleeve in his mouth was tearing. Leonardo would have laughed had the situation not been so frightening. Ezio spat the cloth out of his mouth and began to speak. Most of what he said was unintelligible, but near the end it was clear he thought he was getting witty, because he kept getting louder and more full of snarls.

"Vostri padri scopata vi quando eravate bambini! Si tratta di vendetta? Vi è eccitato?"

The assistant became angry when Ezio said this and raised his fist to punch him in the thigh. The doctor glared at him and shouted, "Don't do it! You make me slip with this scalpel and it'll slip straight into you, you hear?"

"Look at my face!" the assistant snapped. He pointed to his cheek. "I'm bleeding! And this shit he's saying about my padre!"

Leonardo could feel that all of the curses were draining Ezio. Ezio groaned and put his head down on his arm, very close to Leonardo's right hand. His temperature was unnervingly high.

"I'm looking at him right now, sorry," said the doctor. He pulled something out of the depths of the wound with the tweezers. It looked like a splinter, but half of it was covered in something like black mucus. The doctor grunted and laid it on a cloth on the nightstand. "And can you blame him? I mean, look at him. Poor man."

The assistant grudgingly came forward again and held Ezio's legs, but it seemed that they had passed the point of struggle. Leonardo could feel Ezio's breath across his knuckles. Heat radiated from Ezio's head to Leonardo's arm, where the skin was now exposed. The doctor continued to work with little complaint from his patient, while every moment Leonardo expected a sharp movement or cry. This was unlike Ezio. He'd never had an infected wound before (he always took special care not to), but even so, he'd told Leonardo of times when he'd continued fighting with deeper wounds than an arrow to the shoulder. He wasn't fighting now. It was disturbing.

"He hasn't moved in a while," Leonardo said.

"He's resting. He's exhausted," said the doctor.

"Will he be okay?"

The doctor glanced briefly at him before taking a syringe and sticking it into the wound. Ezio whimpered, but that was all. The doctor pulled on the foot of the syringe and something dark entered the chamber, which he then held up for Leonardo to see. "This is water from the canal he was in." Leonardo could see pieces of debris in it, like leaf litter. "It was hiding in a pocket opened by that splinter I pulled out. It's relatively untainted by his body's fluids. Look at it. The water here is terrible for wounds. It's all polluted. He could have rolled in shit and been better off." He glanced at the tube again. "In fact, I think there's something similar in here. It was a good thing you came to me when you did."

Leonardo released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He looked down at Ezio and realized Ezio was looking back at him. His eyes were dull and his pupils were still dilated, but he seemed completely aware of himself nonetheless.

A little surprised, Leonardo said, "Why, hello there, Ezio."

Ezio didn't answer for a while. The doctor removed a piece of debris, which caused Ezio to hiss. When he regained himself he said, "I'm bleeding." His tongue wasn't working right, though, and his words came out mangled in both pitch and pronunciation.

For a moment Leonardo thought to make a sarcastic remark about his intelligence, but he decided against it. "Yes," he said. He was surprised how saying that one word made his throat close. He swallowed and then said, "Be careful, though. Don't bite your tongue talking."

"Why?" Ezio said. He lowered his chin down onto the sheets, and his eyelids became heavy.

Leonardo thought he might go to sleep, but said anyway, "What do you mean?" The assistant was watching their conversation with interest. He had stopped holding Ezio by now, and was hovering near Leonardo's shoulder.

"I don't know," Ezio said. His head began to loll. He frowned at Leonardo. Something like sadness came into his foggy eyes. "The ice caps are melting. Aren't you scared?"

Leonardo's mind was working immediately. Ezio was delirious, but there was symbolism in his dream, and he was asking for someone to tell him what it was. Melting ice caps perhaps represented a disappearing sanctuary. The sanctuary was not Leonardo's, but Ezio's. It was his family, his friends, and his purpose, all things he sought to protect and all things which he continuously saw disappearing. "Aren't you scared?" Leonardo wasn't. It was clear to him, though, that Ezio was terrified. But he decided to play along.

"What?" he asked, if only to get more information.

"Is it summer or winter?"

"It's winter, Ezio."

"Then why is the ice melting?" He asked it with pitiable desperation.

"Maybe spring is coming." Hope was the best Leonardo could offer.

Ezio groaned. "This far north, there is no spring."

The doctor was holding back the edges of the wound with one pair of tweezers and was investigating it with another. He looked up at Ezio's words, and then quickly looked down again so as not to lose whatever he was trying to remove.

"Where are you, Ezio?" the assistant asked.

"Norvegia," Ezio said. "I think." He almost laughed. He almost rolled over. Instead his fingers twitched and Leonardo could feel the muscles in his forearm as they moved. "You're so stupid, you don't even know your own country."

After this, Ezio went back to not hearing them, and the doctor was free to work without interruption. After another quarter of an hour he finished and squirted more alcohol into the wound. Ezio only had the strength to mumble and groan.

"Are we finished yet?" the assistant asked.

Ezio came awake to say, "You will be." Leonardo laughed.

"Shut up," the assistant said. "I wasn't talking to you."

Ezio rested his head back down.

"All we need to do is bandage him and turn him over," said the doctor. "Let the wound drain while he's on his back, clean him up and such. Change the sheets once he can be moved. These ones are pretty disgusting." Leonardo looked at the bloodstains and the streaks of sweat and agreed.

"But, you never said if he'll be okay or not."

"I think so. Just keep an eye on him. Common sense should tell you what to do."

"Right."

It was easy to wrap Ezio in a long bandage, and when it was done, Leonardo put a hand on his back and told him so. Then on a count of three, he took him by the wrists and the assistant took him by the legs, and they rotated him onto his back. He didn't move at all. His breathing was harsh and the glands around his neck were visibly swollen. The doctor handed Leonardo a damp cloth, which he used to sponge at Ezio's face, neck and shoulders. He paused when Ezio made a noise because he thought he had been hurting him. When he realized the noise had been a sigh of contentment, he had continued on and laughed. When he was done he rolled up from the bed and returned the cloth to the doctor, who tucked it into his bag.

"I'll be amazed if he isn't disoriented when he wakes up," he said. "Make sure he doesn't try to get out of bed before he's able. If he's as gone as he was today, it could be dangerous for him. I mean, Norvegia?" He stopped cleaning his hands and pulled a disbelieving face. "That is true delirium. Call me if he gets worse, like if his fever spikes or if his hallucinations stop and then come back."

"Thank you, doctor," Leonardo said, and bowed.

"His dreams might be a little messy for a few days," the doctor said, bowing as well. "Try to take care of him as best you can. Stress can hurt him now, so wake him up if you think it's getting bad."

"I will." Leonardo then showed the doctor and his assistant to the door, paid them, and returned to the guest room. He sat down on the bed and looked at the one lying there. Ezio's face was tired, but at least he was no longer shivering. Leonardo put his palm on Ezio's forehead and pushed back the damp strands of hair that were clinging to his skin. His fever was still high, but that was to be expected.

Ezio's eyes flickered halfway open. Leonardo stood up, removing his hand, and touched Ezio's arm with the back of his fingers. "Do you need water?" he asked.

"What?"

"Are you thirsty?"

"No."

"All right." He thought for a moment and said, "I'll take you back to Venezia now. Call for Leonardo if you need anything."


	4. Gunpowder

**A/N: **This chapter, like the last, was suggested by DreamerAngel17. So far, she's the only one making suggestions, guys, and now I'm totally spent on ideas. Help me, please! This chapter was one I actually dreamed, where I was Ezio. It was weirrrrd. Everything in here happened in my dream. I think I've been playing too much AC.

Oh, yes. Kudos to whoever understands my reference to the American Revolution and why it's there (besides the fact that the Animus is tweaking out like crazy and Ezio is obviously a time-traveler). I shall reveal myself next chapter.

...I'm having way too much fun with this.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Assassin's Creed, but I do think it would be awesome to play as a Continental Assassin. At your service, Mr. Washington!

**Fever  
Gunpowder**

Ezio smells gunpowder. He hears a sharp crack and wonders whether or not it's fireworks, because he's never heard a gun make such a loud sound before. His body is throbbing with the need to sleep, but he sits up in bed anyway. His window is streaming in sunlight. He gets out of bed on legs that feel unstable, and walks to the window with a hand upon the wall to steady himself. He doesn't like this feeling that the room is tilting, that he's on a ship and his mind is the sea.

He reaches the window and the light hurts his eyes. He blinks a few times and looks out. He wonders when Leonardo moved his workshop to fields and farmland with trees that look aflame. He's never seen such color in leaves before. The wind is pushing them through the air. The window is open. One leaf comes and tickles Ezio's nose.

The smell of gunpowder is coming from the fields. Ezio can see the smoke. He sees men marching with low knees through the grass. They wear crimson coats and carry strange spears. The smoke is billowing from these spears.

Ezio hears shouting outside. He leans out of the window to get a better look. There is a man standing in front of a small crowd of people in a cobblestone square. The square seems separate from the fields although it is resting in the middle of them. When the men in the red coats reach it, they break ranks, move around it, and coalesce on its opposite side to continue their march.

There's another gunshot. The redcoats turn around at its sound and surround the square. They stand at attention and someone says, "We have writs to search your belongings."

The man in the center of the square sees Ezio and locks eyes with him. "They've got writs, they say. Lock your doors and windows against these unlawful intruders, Mr. Malcom."

For some reason Ezio cannot name, he feels panic, and quickly slams the window shut. He has a secret to hide from the redcoats, he knows. It is a secret shared by the man in the square and by the people that surround him. He fumbles with the lock. His fingers keep slipping until he bites down on his lip and finishes the latch. He stumbles to the door of the guest room and into the hallway, closing and locking each window he comes to. He cannot walk straight. His body is pulsing. His heart is too strong. He can feel it all the way in his skin that he is sick, but he must tell Leonardo that the redcoats have writs.

He bursts through the door without knocking. Leonardo is lying with his shirt and eyes open on his bed. Blood is coming from his mouth. His stomach is bleeding. Ezio falters and falls back against the wall in shock. There is a redcoat in the place of Leonardo's nightstand. He is holding a bloody spear, though Ezio can see now that the spear has a gun barrel attached to it.

"Leonardo," Ezio whispers.

The redcoat stomps his feet and straightens. "We are not responsible for any damages to your belongings," he says loudly.

Leonardo blinks and sits up. "What are you doing out of bed, Ezio?" he asks, and smiles. His teeth are red and gleaming.

"They've got writs, Leonardo," Ezio says. "We have to lock the doors and windows."

"Well, you can do that, but I'm going back to bed. My stomach hurts, you know," Leonardo says. He flops back down in the same position he was in before. His eyes are open. His stomach is bleeding.

"No, Leonardo! Don't die!" Ezio reaches out to shake him but something stabs him through the back of the shoulder. It's another one of those gun-spears. The pain is so intense that he cannot even gasp. He can see the spear tip protruding from his front. The spear-man lifts him up with his weapon and throws him out the door like a punished kitten. The door slams shut as the main one at the front of the workshop crashes open. Ezio rolls into the hallway and lies curled on the floor, choking. He struggles to stand, but the most he can do is sit back against the wall and feel the blood begin to pool behind him. He has no equilibrium. His world is bobbing up and down.

A woman in a white coat comes up to him. She is carrying a black leather bag. He looks at her. She smirks. Behind her are twenty men in similar coats with similar bags, and one man in a jacket with sleeves that strap his arms to his sides.

"He's been located," the woman says. "Let's bring him to Abstergo."

"No!" Spit flies from the man in confinement as he shouts, and several men hold him back. "Leave him alone!"

"Be quiet, Sixteen. It is not your place to speak."

Ezio wonders what Abstergo is and whether or not these people have writs. He wonders who names a child Sixteen. The woman pulls a clear mask out of her bag, with tubes extending in all directions. They hiss like snakes and wrap around Ezio's legs. They slide around his arms and twist around his neck until they hold him rigid and straight. The woman places the mask over his mouth and nose and tells him to breathe.

He has no choice. He breathes.


	5. Awake Again

**A/N: **Suggested by DreamerAngel17, Leonardo's thoughts while Ezio is dreaming. There aren't too many, but I hope this a bit of what you had in mind. So, guys, what happens next? Write to me and suggest something.

Concerning last chapter, the historical references I was making concerned the Writs of Assistance, which were formal orders sanctioned by the British Parliament in the 18th century. They allowed British soldiers and officials to search the houses of Americans without any consequences for any sort of damage caused. James Otis, a Massachusetts lawyer, was the man telling Ezio to lock his doors and windows, and Daniel Malcom was his client. Malcom, in 1766, denied some officials access to a locked cellar. His actions stirred much controversy. Some say he was acting under Otis's advice, which is what Ezio did last chapter. So, basically, 18th century Parliament is full of Templars; 18th century Boston is full of Assassins. In your review, tell me which 18th century historical figure you think would make a good Assassin or Templar! I think Nathan Hale, one of the U.S.'s first spies, would have been a really good Assassin. :P

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Assassin's Creed.

**Fever  
Awake Again**

It had not been long since Ezio's operation, only a little more than a day. It was the afternoon, and Leonardo was sitting by a window in the workshop, sketching in the sunlight. He had been taking care of Ezio as best as he could. Several times already, he had squeezed water into Ezio's mouth from a wet cloth, and had then cleaned what skin he could reach and was appropriate. He gave him thick broth from a saucer. It was difficult getting the nutrition in, though. Ezio was in a deep, healing sleep, and was dead weight when Leonardo lifted him to put the saucer to his lips. The fever had not abated, but at least Ezio was sweating: a good sign. Leonardo could hardly wait to move him and change the sheets, which had begun to smell sour with infection and body odor.

Thoughts like these made him pause in his work. He tapped his pencil against his desk and looked at the vibrations he caused in the glass of water near his hand. It might be time to feed Ezio again. Maybe this time he would be awake, or at least half-aware, like when he thought he was in Norvegia. It would make Leonardo's job easier.

He stood and filled a bowl with water. He got the thin white cloth he had been using as a drip. He went toward Ezio's room. Silence had greeted him at the doorway since the night before, but today Leonardo heard some snuffling. It sounded like Ezio was dreaming. He pushed the door open wider than it already was and saw his friend's head tossing back and forth. His arms were over the blankets, and Leonardo could see his fingers twitching. His legs were moving. One knee would come up and then slide back down. The other knee might roll out and Ezio's whole body would follow it. Then he would toss again and return to the position on his back. He was murmuring, but Leonardo couldn't catch the words, if words they were.

He went to Ezio's side and knelt by him. He caught his face with one hand and said, "Relax. Relax or wake up. You need something to drink." He opened Ezio's mouth by pressing his chin out of the way with his thumb. With the other hand he allowed water to dribble in from the cloth.

Ezio swallowed the first mouthful but then jerked away and refused any more. Leonardo sat back. He wondered if he should force him awake.

"Leo... Leonardo," Ezio said. Leonardo perked up. His name was quiet, but it was there.

"I'm here," Leonardo said.

"Leonardo," Ezio said again. His eyebrows twitched. There was a hint of panic in his voice.

Leonardo touched his arm. "I'm here, Ezio. Wake up. I'm here." He dabbed at Ezio's face with the cloth, but there was no sign Ezio felt it.

"No, Leonardo, don't die!" he said. He made a single, long movement, almost like he was arching his back. It was clear he was in pain. His shoulder lifted slightly. Leonardo saw specs of fresh blood staining the sheets. Ezio's bandages were blooming red.

"Ezio," Leonardo said. He leaned forward and took Ezio's face in his hands. His voice was harsh with anxiety. "Ezio, open your eyes. Wake up. I need to take you to the doctor. I can't leave you here alone." He felt himself becoming desperate. "Ezio, I don't have enough supplies to take care of you! You have to wake up so that I know you'll be okay. Please, Ezio!" He slid his hand behind Ezio's neck and lifted him up slightly.

Ezio, amazingly, relaxed in his hold, but this did nothing to comfort Leonardo. He knew a good deal about anatomy, but wasn't sure how that anatomy interacted with the body sometimes. What he knew he had mostly gleaned from the dead, and so he wasn't sure what this reaction meant.

He looked up, away from Ezio. "I just have to breathe," he said to the room. "This isn't as serious as I think it is. Breathe. Breathe."

He stared at the door for a few moments, and then something light touched the corner of his mouth. He looked down and saw Ezio staring at him with eyes that were slipping in and out of focus. It was Ezio's fingers that were reaching out. They scraped without control down Leonardo's beard and then fell back onto the sheets.

"You," Ezio said, and swallowed. "You're alive."

Leonardo smiled and felt some of his tension ease. "Yes, of course. Why did you think I was dead?"

"You'd been stabbed," Ezio said. "Some kind of spear." He placed a hand over his abdomen and clenched his fist there.

"I'm all right," Leonardo said. "But you need a doctor."

Ezio looked confused. "Why? What happened? Are we in your workshop?" His eyes rolled to see the room.

"Yes," Leonardo said. "But you're bleeding through your bandages, and if it's bad I don't have the means of fixing it."

"Where am I bleeding? I don't remember."

That was not what Leonardo needed to hear. He gulped down the lump that formed in his throat. "Your shoulder, Ezio," he said hoarsely.

"Oh," Ezio said. "A spear-man ran me through. He tossed me out of your room, and then this woman came and put this mask over me."

"What? No, you were dreaming. You were shot with an arrow the other day. You swam in a dirty canal. Don't you remember?"

Ezio didn't pay attention. He was staring at the ceiling, like Leonardo was up there rather than sitting right beside him. He sounded very conversational. "Was I adopted? This man called me Messer Malcom. That's not even an Italian name. He had a strange accent."

Leonardo placed his palm over Ezio's forehead in an attempt to stop him, but Ezio merely turned his head to look at him and continued. "Have you ever heard of Abstergo? And I know they used to name children Sextus and Septimus, but Sixteen? I've never even seen sixteen children in one place."

"Ezio, stop," Leonardo said. "Stop talking."

Ezio did.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Leonardo said. "You were dreaming. Do you understand that? Do you understand what I'm saying to you? You were shot with an arrow. You weren't stabbed. I don't know a Messer Malcom. I don't know what Abstergo is. Whatever someone wants to name their child is up to them. I don't care. You have to get up, though, Ezio. You have to sit up and let me see your shoulder."

Ezio frowned at him. "You seem worried," he said.

"Because I am," Leonardo said. "Please, just sit up."

"All right."

Leonardo leaned back and helped Ezio up by supporting him. Ezio rolled with effort into a sitting position, and put his hands over his face.

"What's wrong?" Leonardo asked.

"I feel dizzy," Ezio said. "And nauseous."

"That's probably because you haven't eaten anything in a while. I've been trying to give you broth, but you haven't had the strength to even sip it," Leonardo said. "I'll get you some, and I'll look at your shoulder while you're drinking it. Do you feel like you're going to vomit?" He said it so bluntly that Ezio looked up at him from behind his fingers.

"I feel too empty," he said after a moment. "I need to eat something."

Leonardo stood up. "And your shoulder?" he said as he began to walk toward the door. "How does that feel?"

"It feels warm and wet," Ezio said. "It aches inside."

Leonardo nodded absently. "That sounds about right," he said, and went to get some broth.

* * *

To say that he was shaken would be an understatement. Ezio's condition continued to surprise him in unpleasant ways. He didn't know whether this fresh surge of blood was normal or was the result of Ezio's body trying to flush something that didn't need to be flushed. The blood stains looked pure, with no yellowish fluid nor water. They were bright at the edges and dark where they were coming from, but they were red and nothing else. Leonardo leaned against the wall in the hallway and tilted his head back. Everything seemed so colorless in comparison to that blood.

He sighed and steadied himself and then collected what he had promised, as well as a bowl of diluted alcohol. Ezio was lying on his side facing the door when he returned.

"I wanted to apologize," he said, "for causing so much of a fuss."

Leonardo smiled. "You're sick," he said. "That's not your fault."

"I do not like worrying you, my friend," Ezio said. He propped himself on an arm. "You look sick yourself."

"Once you are better I will not look so bad," Leonardo said. "Sit up so I can see your shoulder."

Ezio sat up and Leonardo handed him the saucer of broth. Ezio sipped at it and nodded. "Thank you," he said.

"It's no problem," Leonardo said. He peeled away the wrappings around Ezio's torso and shoulder, and nearly every layer was stained red. It looked like a lot of blood, but perhaps it wasn't as bad as it appeared. The cloth was thin and could not possibly absorb much. This was just what the doctor had wanted after all, for the wound to drain.

It did not bleed so much when Ezio was vertical, though the skin around it was smeared. Leonardo cleaned away the blood and was pleased to see that the skin did not look as discolored as it did when the doctor was there. He dipped a cloth into the bowl of alcohol and said, "This might sting." Then he began to dab away at the edges of the wound.

Ezio made a sound through his nose, but continued to drink.

"Do you remember when the doctor was here?" Leonardo asked. "You said you were in Norvegia."

Ezio was quiet for a time. When he spoke, he seemed to lack confidence. "I remember it was cold. I remember holding on to something warm for a few seconds, but then it was gone."

"That was my leg," Leonardo said. "You tried to bite me, too." Ezio straightened slightly. "I'm glad your not so delirious anymore."

"Me, too," Ezio said. He turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder. "So, do I need a doctor?"

"I don't think so. Just new bandages. I'll wrap you up and then we can change these sheets. Do you feel well enough to stand?"

"I think so."

"How do you feel in general? Your fever seems to have gone down."

Ezio took a long drink before answering. "Maybe," he said. "I'm not sure." He glanced over his shoulder again and caught Leonardo's eye. Leonardo smiled at him. Ezio quickly looked away.


	6. Wildcat

**A/N: **Very short chapter, but I hope it satisfies you. Bashful Ezio is curious. ;) Suggested by DreamerAngel17. What happens next? Review to tell me! Also, I'm raising the rating to Mature, because we're getting into some themes here that some people will definitely not be comfortable with. The only reason I'm even comfortable with it is because I'm incognito. :P

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Assassin's Creed.

**Fever  
Wildcat**

Ezio was disturbed. He had thought these waves of heat would have passed with the fever, but for every place that Leonardo touched him there was a white streak of flame that coursed across his skin. It went straight to his mouth, which watered, and down his spine, which shook. He was beginning to recognize these feelings, too, and that made it worse. He had felt it sometimes when Cristina touched him a handful of years ago. It wouldn't happen all the time, but some nights she would do something especially enchanting and Ezio would turn into a moaning mass of idiocy in her hands. He was very close to becoming that now with Leonardo and he didn't understand why. The only time Leonardo could even be called enchanting was when he was excited over something scientific or artistic, and that was more cute than anything else.

But now Ezio felt his breath begin to quicken, and it wasn't just because what Leonardo was doing to the wound stung like a bad dog bite. It was because Leonardo was sitting behind him on the bed, with his free hand on Ezio's back to steady himself while he worked. Ezio felt the hand. He felt the cloth and vaguely remembered someone doing something similar to his face. He was acutely aware that he wasn't wearing anything except a pair of Leonardo's pants. He felt like a little girl for how embarrassed he was.

Then Leonardo smiled at him and it took everything he had not to stare and just turn around again. He placed the bowl of broth in his lap and stared at his fingers, which were trembling. The thumb, index, and middle finger of his right hand had just touched those lips that were smiling at him. They'd felt the beard, the coarseness of it. It was like touching something wild, from an old forest, even though Leonardo wasn't far from tame. Ezio had seen the wildness when he had first come wounded to the workshop. He'd seen it in Leonardo's eyes, a momentary primacy at the sight of the arrow. It had its roots in fear, but it was primal nonetheless, and it was something Ezio had never seen in a woman.

He was ready to admit that they could also be wild, but he still found it to be different. He'd been with hellions before, but it was always like they were broken horses from a pasture, and he had let them loose for a night. In the morning, they went back to humility and docility. Even Caterina Sforza, by so loudly denying her societal chains, tangled herself more deeply in them.

Ezio glanced at Leonardo again out of the corner of his eye. He was still dabbing away. He had already soaked the cloth again in alcohol, but the sting was beginning to leave. Ezio saw Leonardo's intention, the fervor contained and released not by society but by himself. Leonardo was an unbound man who bound his own hands. His were the eyes that looked out of an unlocked cage. He was masculine, but his joviality made him slightly feminine, and so Ezio found himself looking in upon a regal wildcat. It was this feeling, largely unprocessed in his mind, that made his eyes want to linger. It was this feeling that had made him reach out upon waking, as if on impulse, to touch those lips and scrape at that beard.

Really, Ezio was relieved Leonardo wasn't dead, like in his dream. He would have to leave before that changed.

"Are you finished yet?" he asked.

"You become more like yourself every minute," Leonardo said. "Let me bandage it again. I have some extra wrappings." He got up and went to get them. Ezio watched him go. When he was gone, his afterimage stayed.

"This is wrong," Ezio whispered to it. It was leaning against the wall with its arms crossed. It was nothing real. Ezio knew this. He was just staring too hard at the wallpaper. "I shouldn't want to touch him so... intimately." He looked down at the sheets and touched his own lips briefly. He sought exploration. Was Leonardo's face rougher, stronger than it appeared? Was his hair coarse, like a lion's mane, or soft, like a pretty dog's? Did he feel like a woman? Ezio had never seen him even partially in the nude and didn't know if he was muscular.

Would Leonardo, if Ezio pressed his nose against his neck, smell like perfume or the landscape he visited for his paintings? Would he smell like winter or summer? What would Leonardo act like if Ezio held him around the waist or tried to kiss him? It would be a disappointment if he acted like a woman then. Ezio wanted to goad the wildcat out of its cage. He wanted to take it into the light and see it in its sleek, feline, androgynous splendor.

He didn't think about it in so many words, but all of the questions were his own. When Leonardo came back into the room, Ezio's mind had gone blank, and there was a faint buzzing in his ears.

"Is something wrong?" Leonardo asked.

Ezio made a noncommittal sound. He wasn't listening much. He'd just snapped himself into a daze, because he'd just entertained mildly sexual thoughts about his best friend.

"Ciao?"

"I'm fine," Ezio said, coming out of it a bit. Leonardo was standing in front of him and to the side, looking down on him with a quizzical face. He wasn't wearing all the things that normally made him look so bulky. He was just in a white shirt and some dark, clean pants. He'd pulled back his hair. Wildcat, indeed. He looked much too sleek to be human.

He sat down next to Ezio and Ezio helped him with the bandages. Leonardo's proximity bothered Ezio because he was having difficulty keeping his hands from touching Leonardo's loose ponytail. It was over soon, though, and Leonardo stood up.

"Sheets now," he said. "Why don't you go into the bathroom and wash? Be careful not to get the bandages wet. I can take care of this."

Ezio went as he was bidden. He filled the tub halfway with water from a small hand pump and took off his pants before the mirror. He turned to look at his shoulder, where flecks of blood already dotted his new bandage, and he looked at his muscles, which contained the archetypal rather than physical masculinity about which he was curious in Leonardo. He thought about dressing again and going back into the room. He thought about drawing Leonardo away from his task, of peeling back the white shirt and finding out what lay beneath. But he turned to the bath instead, because thinking was much safer than doing. Besides, he could much more easily entertain himself with simple thoughts rather than try to entertain himself with someone who might be unwilling to participate.


	7. Sandstorm

**A/N: **Suggested by DreamerAngel17. Thanks for keeping me sane, dear. Two songs were also suggested for last chapter: Alicia Keys's "Unthinkable" and Ratatat's "Wildcat." And just to let you all know, the cat that I was thinking of for Leonardo was a caracal. They're wild, but are easily domesticated. People in east Africa use them as hunting cats. They're really intelligent. Gorgeous, too.

Also, sorry about how long it took for me to update. This chapter gave me some difficulties.

What happens next? Review and tell me!

**Fever  
Sandstorm**

Leonardo would have let Ezio's strange behavior slide if he had been able to link it to the fever, but Ezio seemed to be in his right mind and therefore Leonardo had trouble understanding what was wrong. It was fairly obvious that Ezio felt a guilty sort of pleasure when someone else was taking care of him. He would struggle and yet seek to be held, and Leonardo had not missed that almost-moan when he'd been cleaning Ezio's face the day the doctor came. He also did not miss the embarrassed glances Ezio sent him when he was touched. Ezio's behavior was probably linked to the fact that he was an assassin. It was one end of a pendulum's path, while the other was for people who hated to be touched by anyone and anything.

Leonardo chuckled when Ezio was gone. The poor man didn't have to be embarrassed about a weakness for affection. Wasn't Leonardo himself always asking for a hug anyway? He pounded his fist into his palm in a moment of decision. When Ezio came out of that bathroom, a big hug was what he would receive. But first, the sheets desperately needed to be changed.

Leonardo stripped the bed and looked at the stains. Perhaps he would get Enrico to wash them later, because they were not at all attractive. One of them looked very much like urine. He bundled up the sheets and threw them out the window into the courtyard. They landed in a tight heap in a small cart. At least they were outside. Leonardo would tend to them later.

He sat down on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh. He didn't want Ezio to sleep in here anymore. It was too cold to keep the window open, and even with the sheets gone, the air stank. But Leonardo didn't have any bedrolls and thus the only place left for Ezio would be the couch in the workshop. Leonardo wanted to be inviting and generous, and he wanted Ezio to stay for as long as possible so that he could be as strong as possible when he left. But he also knew that Ezio was the type of person to leap at the chance of leaving a sickbed. He put his face in his hands. He sensed a fight coming. The only thing he could do was ask whether or not Ezio wanted to remain in the room with new sheets or move to the couch, and hope that he wouldn't intuit there was the third option of leaving. Maybe Leonardo could sketch his arm and shoulder and see how the wound had affected it, and use that suggestion to entice Ezio to stay.

Leonardo went into his workshop and pulled out his journals. He felt like studying something. He would have liked to find a cat to study, but they tended to be uncooperative when he tried. Sitting in front of him were some unfinished sketches of a cat arching its back as it stretched. He'd tried to keep the image in his head long enough to complete the picture, but he had only seen the cat for about a second, and it had begun to do other interesting, languorous things that Leonardo also wanted to sketch. What flexible spines they had!

Leonardo took his pencil and darkened the lines around the cat's paws. They were strange, especially the ones in the sketches where the cat was stretching. How could such soft and fleshy things conceal such sharp and painful weapons? They were like their own assassins.

The drawing of the cat slowly lured him in, until he found himself giving it a light source and glossing out its fur. Turning to the second one, he pulled forward his sketches of human muscles and began to apply them to the cat. It was like a puzzle, except not all of the pieces fit exactly into place. The ones around the skull and spine were especially frustrating. Leonardo rubbed his eyes with one hand and made a sound like a growl. He would have given anything for a cat carcass at that moment.

Thoughts about how he would obtain one began to return him to the world around him, and he became aware of a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. He stood up out of his chair and turned around to find Ezio sitting on the couch, staring at him.

"Sorry," Ezio said, smiling. "You looked too peaceful to disturb."

Leonardo laughed, though the wrenched feeling in his gut refused to leave. He felt a little sick. He leaned back against his desk. "Is 'peaceful' the right word, my friend?"

"I suppose not," Ezio said, "but 'graceful' isn't, either."

Leonardo waved him off and scoffed. "Perhaps 'entranced,'" he said, "or 'stupefied.'"

Ezio chuckled. "I saw that you took the sheets away," he said. "I assume that I'm being relocated to the couch?" He patted the cushion he was sitting on.

"Well, I was going to ask you whether you wanted to stay in there or in here," Leonardo said. "The only reason I didn't put new sheets on was because I wasn't sure what you would want. It smells in there, Ezio."

Ezio nodded and stood up. "Perhaps I should be going, then," he said.

Leonardo stepped towards him. "But you're not fully healed yet."

"I do not want to ruin your furniture with my blood," Ezio said.

Leonardo opened his mouth to reply, then quickly shut it, crossed his arms, and jerked his head away. "Do you really think so ill of me?"

Tensity suddenly seemed to fill the air, but Leonardo did not look up. Instead he continued, "I'm insulted, Ezio, really. Do you honestly think that I care more about a piece of damned furniture than I do about you, my closest friend?" He felt like spitting in contempt, but refrained. "How dare you think that of me?" He closed his eyes and sagged against the edge of the desk.

After a few moments, he heard footsteps. They seemed to be coming closer rather than going farther away, but Leonardo was suddenly too tired to open his eyes. He had not slept since Ezio first came. He had been too worried, and dreamed of frightening things when he did doze. Now, half-asleep standing up, he felt something brush against his cheek and travel into his hair. He felt something touch his neck. It would have tickled had it not felt so good.

Leonardo took a deep breath and was filled with the scent of arid days upon the sea. He smelled the clouds of a dry thunderstorm. It made him open his eyes with a dizziness caused by visions the scents invoked, and he found himself staring at Ezio's collarbone. It was Ezio's hand in his hair. It was Ezio's nose and lips against Leonardo's neck. He was breathing against Leonardo's skin and lightly touching it.

Leonardo's hands rose, trembling, but he couldn't decide what to grab or push away. "Ezio," he said. His voice shook on the first syllable, then cracked and faded to a whisper. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Ezio murmured. The vibrations made Leonardo think of implications, of Salai and one of his other students. It made him swallow. It made him nervous. Ezio opened his mouth and pressed his lips and tongue underneath Leonardo's ear. Leonardo felt his face burn with embarrassment and shame. Ezio pulled back slightly to say, "Whatever you want."

It wasn't Ezio's voice that came through, however. It was something darker, something dangerous. It filled Leonardo with past fears. He attempted to remove himself from the situation by sliding to the left, but Ezio removed his hand from Leonardo's hair and placed it on the desk next to his hip, effectively caging him.

"What's wrong?" he said into Leonardo's ear.

"What are you doing?" Leonardo repeated. "Why?"

"Because I'm curious," Ezio said.

Leonardo's eyes flicked in confusion. "About what?" he asked.

"You," Ezio said. Leonardo felt light pressure against his right hip, but he couldn't see what Ezio was doing. Soon he felt bare fingertips underneath his shirt. They traveled slowly up his side and down his front to trace the lines of his abdomen. He sucked in a harsh breath.

"Stop," he said.

"Why?" Ezio asked.

"Because I _asked_ you to," Leonardo said. It came out sounding like a bark. "Now stop." The fingers paused but did not remove themselves. Leonardo forced himself to sigh. "You can't do this, Ezio."

"Why not?"

"People get in trouble with the law for things like this," Leonardo said. "I've already been accused once. I don't need the trouble of that again."

Ezio seemed undeterred. "Accused of what, exactly? Touching? I do remember hearing about that, Leonardo, when we were still living in Firenze. It was just around the time we met. You were accused of sodomy. I don't plan on going near that concept."

"What, then?" Leonardo's heart was pounding.

"Consider it science," Ezio said. "I'm just finding out the differences between the way certain men react to things certain women like."

The fingers started moving again. They traveled to Leonardo's back and there, Ezio's palm flattened and pulled Leonardo forward. Ezio had pulled back, and now leaned in again to kiss Leonardo on the mouth. Leonardo had been about to speak, and so he felt his teeth knock against Ezio's when they met. Ezio's mouth was warm and dry and tasted like the desert. It tasted like music and the heaving groans of camels. It was like the spirit of Arabian hooves traveling with swift endurance over hundreds of miles to get to this place and this single moment, where and when Leonardo felt Ezio's tongue against his own.

Leonardo's hands began to travel up Ezio's arms of their own accord. He didn't want to let go and be thrown back into Italy again. Italy was cold and wet this time of year. Ezio was offering samples of a far more exciting place.

For some reason the fact that this was Ezio bothered him less than the fact that this was another man whom he was kissing. And kissing Ezio he was; this was not a one-sided ordeal. Leonardo knew and trusted Ezio. Ezio would never hurt him or take advantage of him, and, truth be told, Leonardo was just as eager to explore his psyche as Ezio was to explore Leonardo's. If being physical was a promising way to achieve that, then so be it. Without a doubt, however, he would hold Ezio to his word of zero contemplation of sodomy. That court in Firenze had been much too difficult to battle.

Ezio released Leonardo and tossed his head slightly to move hair from his eyes. Leonardo touched his lips and stared at Ezio's smirk.

"You don't disappoint," Ezio said.

Leonardo made an unintelligent noise.

"Perhaps you should get some rest," Ezio said. "You seem a little slow."

Leonardo nodded.


	8. The Challenge

**A/N: **Last chapter I made a reference to a court case of Leonardo's. This actually happened, poor guy. In 1476, he and three other young men were charged with sodomy (the penalty for which was death) and acquitted, and for the next two years, Leo became a bit of a depressed recluse. I don't know whether or not he knew Salai at this time, but 1476 was the year he met Ezio, if I'm not mistaken. Ezio would have probably heard about the case from public gossip.

Added some more smut for you guys in this chapter. Extra snippets that Leonardo was too overwhelmed to enjoy for himself last chapter. :3

Suggested by DreamerAngel17. Thanks also to anonymous reviewer Bunny, who asked for more of Leonardo's reactions. While they're not from his point of view, I hope you enjoy the ones I placed in here.

Note: "sorella" means "sister" according to Bing translator.

What happens next? Review and tell me! This story's course is determined by reviews only!

**Fever  
The Challenge**

In the bath, Ezio avoided his bandages as much as possible. It was difficult for him to move his right arm, as his shoulder was stiff and ached like it was dislocated. This was partly the reason that he soon found it impossible to clean his upper body, even only scrubbing gently with a damp cloth, without getting his bandages wet. Limited to his lower body, where there were no bandages to hinder him, his mind was free to return to delicious thoughts of Leonardo, though he did not really want it to do so. His mind offered him pictures of Leonardo with his head thrown back, of Leonardo half-naked, fully naked. He was groaning, and if he was making words, they didn't make sense. He almost looked like he was in delirium. Ezio shook his head. Delirium was the wrong word. It was euphoria.

Ezio felt arousal curl powerfully down his spine and settle in his groin. When he glanced in the mirror, he saw that his face was red, even though the water was quite cool, and he realized with a shock that all those times when Leonardo had touched him, the burns he left behind had not been because of Ezio's fever. He gripped the sides of the tub and clenched his teeth together. He had to remove this feeling from himself, but remaining in the tub was not going to help him, so he threw himself out of it and pulled on Leonardo's pants, which were still the only clean garments to which Ezio had access. When they were around his hips, Ezio looked down at his erection, half-formed and idle. His body seemed to recognize that he was wearing Leonardo's pants before Ezio himself did. Blushing anew, Ezio finished pulling them on and looked to the ceiling.

He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of nothing but blood, pain, and gore. He projected the images into the air around him and screamed their descriptions without voice. He thought of the kind of lust that was far removed from any state of arousal. He thought of the sharp tang and warmth of blood, of the pain in his own shoulder, and slowly, his body was subdued.

For a few minutes afterward, he stood in the bathroom and wondered what it meant for him to be continuously having sexual thoughts about his best friend, who was of the same gender. The church condemned such thoughts and said both they and any resulting actions were unnatural, but as an assassin, hadn't Ezio himself been taught to question the rules of society? Had not Paula taught him to question the teachings of single sects? He was one to learn from the dregs and become that with which he was initially uncomfortable. Many courtesans he knew jokingly called him "sorella," and he never questioned them. He found it funny, but in some ways also true. His masculinity and its pride had not been hurt by such jests for years.

Ezio scraped a hand through his hair and went into the hallway. The door to the room he had been staying in was slightly ajar. Ezio could see that the bed had been stripped but had nothing clean to cover it. Was Leonardo kicking him out? Even though it was probably for the best, Ezio found himself hoping it was not the case, and even grew excited at what other prospects might remain for sleeping situations should he stay.

He shook his head and moved toward the workshop, where he saw Leonardo leaning over some drawings. The hair on Ezio's arms prickled when he became aware that he himself was not wearing any shirt, and that Leonardo looked vulnerable and unaware. Ezio swallowed. Leonardo was far too absorbed in his work to notice that someone was standing no more than a few paces away from him. Ezio could almost reach out and brush back his hair, which had come undone and was tucked behind one ear, or trace the collar of his shirt, which was so tantalizingly low. But instead he steeled himself and slipped over to the couch to watch.

At first there didn't appear to be anything interesting happening, but Ezio was aware by now that half of him was treacherous and wanted Leonardo in a bed, reacting only to what Ezio did to him. This part of him promptly honed in on Leonardo's back. The folds of his shirt were slightly more opaque than the pieces held taught over his skin, and they let Ezio see the vague lines of a strong but untried surface. He imagined his hands roving over that back, tracing those lines the way Leonardo traced over drawings, tasting that skin, massaging out the knots and hearing Leonardo moan or maybe even cry out if Ezio accidentally put too much pressure on a particularly sore spot.

He leaned forward and put his face in his hands. He was shaking with self-restraint. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to just grab Leonardo and suck the very breath out of him with kisses and breath back to him something sweeter. Ezio was on the verge of standing up and losing control when Leonardo abruptly stood up first and turned around.

For a moment, Ezio could think of nothing to say. Leonardo looked doubtful, possibly even fearful. Was Ezio's face still red? Was the lust shining out of his eyes like a beacon? He felt drunk with it.

"Sorry," he finally managed. "You looked too peaceful to disturb." He didn't get up, though. He was afraid of what Leonardo's eyes would do, of where they would look.

Leonardo laughed and leaned back against his desk. "Is 'peaceful' the right word, my friend?" he asked.

"I suppose not," Ezio said, "but 'graceful' isn't, either." He was thinking of the wildcat again, and how "graceful" was actually the perfect word to use.

Leonardo waved him off and scoffed. "Perhaps 'entranced,'" he said, "or 'stupefied.'"

Ezio chuckled. "I saw that you took the sheets away," he said. "I assume I'm being relocated to the couch?"

"Well, I was going to ask you whether you wanted to stay in there or in here," Leonardo said. "The only reason I didn't put new sheets on was because I wasn't sure what you would want. It smells in there, Ezio."

Ezio nodded and stood up. Thankfully, Leonardo's eyes did not stray from his face. "Perhaps I should be going, then," he said, though he hoped Leonardo would suggest something else.

Leonardo took a step forward. "But you're not fully healed yet," he said.

"I do not want to ruin your furniture with my blood," Ezio said, and thought, _I would much prefer to ruin your bed._ Then he blushed because the thought had come unbidden, and the voice which said it was dark and raspy.

Leonardo did not notice his blush. He opened his mouth to reply, then quickly shut it and jerked his head away. "Do you really think so ill of me?" he asked.

In that moment, Ezio's eyes flickered to the drawings, which he could see now that Leonardo was standing away from them. They were of cats, all of them in sinuous, almost provocative postures. It was like Lady Fortune was throwing Ezio some wheat. His whole body tensed up, and his eyes returned to Leonardo, where they riveted on the slice of exposed chest that they could see. He licked his lips, which suddenly seemed too dry. Whatever Leonardo said next, Ezio didn't quite hear. He only saw him take a step back to sag against the desk. He watched Leonardo's pelvis as he moved, and imagined how glorious it would feel to press against his own.

The small noise of surprise, perhaps that the desk was still behind him, that came from Leonardo sealed Ezio's decision. He took several steps forward and let his hand brush against Leonardo's nape and travel into his hair. He let his head fall near the crook of Leonardo's shoulder and nosed at his neck. Leonardo smelled like neither summer nor winter. He smelled like autumn and crisp decay. It was an intensely arousing scent, that of muted musk. Ezio couldn't help the choked moan that came on his breath.

"Ezio," he heard Leonardo whisper. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Ezio said back. Talking urged him to press an open-mouthed kiss underneath Leonardo's ear. His skin tasted like the scent of ash tree blossoms. It was mouthwatering and androgynous and just what Ezio had expected. He wanted more, so he gripped Leonardo's hair slightly tighter and moved his mouth and tongue hard on the area he had kissed. "Whatever you want," he said when he pulled away. He desperately wanted Leonardo to ask for more, but he was to be disappointed. The urge to cover Leonardo's neck in long, hot kisses was almost overpowering, however, and when Leonardo began to move to the left to escape, Ezio felt he had no choice but to cage him with his arms.

He found Leonardo's ear and murmured into it, "What's wrong?"

Leonardo said, "What are you doing? Why?"

"Because I'm curious," Ezio said, and pressed his nose into Leonardo's shoulder to breathe in his musky scent.

"About what?"

"You," Ezio said. He wanted to stop talking. He just wanted to _do_. He moved his left hand to Leonardo's hip and let it travel up to feel how soft the skin was beneath his fingers. It wasn't as soft as a woman's, but reminded Ezio of good, stylish leather. As he moved his hand across Leonardo's chest and down to his abdomen, where the muscles fluttered and could be felt as surprisingly toned, Ezio pulled aside the Leonardo's collar with his teeth and started his trail of long, hot kisses at the base of Leonardo's neck.

Suddenly, he heard "Stop," but he couldn't force himself to do so. His hand went flat against Leonardo's abdomen, and his thumb stroked the lines of muscle there with a bit more roughness than had been present before. He grazed his teeth along Leonardo's skin.

"Why?" It almost came out as a whine. Why did he have to stop when Leonardo was so delicious and felt so good?

Leonardo did not sound amused. "Because I _asked _you to. Now stop."

Ezio did. He pulled back slightly, but kept his hand where it was, in case Leonardo should change his mind. His skin was hot to the touch, and fluttered again.

"You can't do this, Ezio."

"Why not?"

"People get in trouble with the law for things like this. I've already been accused once. I don't need the trouble of that again."

Ezio snorted. "Accused of what, exactly? Touching? I do remember hearing about that, Leonardo, when we were still living in Firenze. It was just around the time we met. You were accused of sodomy. I don't plan on going near that concept." It was true. In Ezio's opinion, it would womanize Leonardo, removing the androgyny he found so alluring.

"What, then?" Leonardo's breath was coming fast. Ezio felt his groin tighten as he heard it.

"Consider it science," he said with effort. "I'm just finding out the differences between the way certain men react to things certain women like." Then, without giving Leonardo an opportunity to speak, Ezio kissed him.

The sigh that Ezio heard a moment after they met was satisfying, and he felt Leonardo's hands begin to travel over his arms. They settled on his neck and back. Ezio dug his hand into Leonardo's hair and tilted Leonardo's head slightly to allow for something even deeper. Everything was lips and teeth and tongue, and the movement was rhythmic and primal. Ezio felt his throat vibrating with a groan even though it wasn't very audible, and it was especially thrilling that Leonardo was returning the kiss with little resistance.

Ezio pushed him back against the desk, and one of Leonardo's hands dropped to steady himself. He made a small noise, and it took most of Ezio's will to stop and flick his hair out of his eyes. He was pleased with what he saw. Leonardo looked dazed and slightly confused, but his face was red and he looked like he was debating over whether to ask for more.

"You don't disappoint," Ezio said.

Leonardo grunted.

"Perhaps you should get some rest," Ezio said. "You seem a little slow."

Leonardo nodded.

"Or it could just be a ruse," Ezio said. He fingered a lock of Leonardo's hair. "To get me to leave."

Leonardo seemed startled by that, and looked up into Ezio's eyes.

"You need to stay," Leonardo said, but it was clear he wasn't talking about physical satisfaction, only physical need. Well, Ezio would make him need. "And whatever it is you're doing, I'm not comfortable with it," he said.

"Don't you trust me?" Ezio asked. Despite the fact that there was only a hand's breadth between them, he stepped closer. Leonardo's eyes widened, and he flushed. Ezio grinned.

"Implicitly," Leonardo stammered.

"So why won't you let me...?"

"Because I'm not ready," Leonardo said quickly. Then he seemed to shrink and tried to push Ezio away. It was obvious he hadn't meant exactly what he'd just said. But Ezio seized the opportunity and held Leonardo's arms to hold him in place.

"Do I need to make you ready, my friend?" he asked, and made sure he sounded like he was purring. He wanted to let the cat imagery steep in Leonardo's mind. He leaned in close to say it, too, so that his breath fanned over Leonardo's lips and so that Leonardo held his own like he had forgotten how to breathe at all.

"I... suppose..." he said.

So Ezio reached down and weighed Leonardo's crotch in his palm. Leonardo wasn't completely hard, but he was getting there. He yelped and his arm, which flailed in surprise, knocked over the brass candle holder on the desk. It hit the floor with a sharp ring. The candle broke, and the fall kicked up some dust from the corner of the stone floor. The dust blanketed the flame, and the flame guttered out. The room became dimmer.

"I'd say you're almost there," Ezio said, and stroked upwards. Leonardo bit his lip and shuddered. He gave a coughing whine. "But you're so resistant," Ezio continued. His hand continued to travel upwards, underneath Leonardo's shirt, over his side. His skin was still hot. Leonardo was shaking.

"You," Leonardo said, "you have to make me ask for it." His voice was gruffer than it usually was, and this only added to Ezio's excitement.

"How?" Ezio said.

"You have to make me say your name," Leonardo said. He refused to meet Ezio's gaze.

"Well, that's easy," Ezio said. He leaned back and crossed his arms, pushing his pelvis against Leonardo's at the same time so that Leonardo's knuckles went white where they gripped the edge of his desk. "You've already said it."

"Not with pleasure," Leonardo said. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Ezio chuckled. "I knew you were always one for mischief," he said. "So I have to make you say my name with pleasure?" He made a show of thinking. "That shouldn't be too difficult. I'll start right now. Take off your shirt."


	9. The Rubicon

**A/N: **Suggested (or really hinted at) by DreamerAngel17. What happens next chapter? Dunno-you tell me. Also, I've taken my inspiration for this Lezio relationship from ancient Greek soldiers, who, besides often being lovers, were often best friends. These lovers were who the soldiers went to for companionship, even though for a good part of every year, they had access to their wives (the war season was only six months long, at best). These were the people they went to when they wanted good sex and good conversation. Except, no one was telling them not to sodomize. XD On a slightly more hilarious note, if a Greek man raped a woman, the man responsible for her had the right to rape the criminal back with a radish or another vegetable. In my classics class, someone asked about artichokes. The look of horror on my teacher's face was priceless. Tell me funny anecdotes in your comments!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Assassin's Creed.

**Fever  
The Rubicon**

Leonardo thought that Ezio must have learned his physical skills from experience with all the women he had pleased over the years, but he was without much tact. He _wanted_ and he _joked_ and he caught Leonardo off-guard repeatedly, but he did not waste time on romantic foolishness that he might otherwise use on a woman. Had Leonardo felt emasculated by being pressed so intimately against a desk, he was glad that Ezio respected him enough to continue speaking to him as a fellow man.

Regrettably, this also excited him. Even in his dazed state, the part of his mind that was able to register physical contact did so with unsettling force. Even the tips of his hair felt alive, and when Ezio rolled a lock between his fingers, Leonardo would have sworn he felt the lightning of it slap him across the face. He wanted to get Ezio off of him, to go lie down rather than stand there doing such things that made Leonardo forget his integrity, but there was a strong urge to lie down with him should he succeed in his efforts.

And no matter how much Leonardo tried to get away, his movements were sluggish and weak, and Ezio stopped him every time. The words "Do I need to make you ready, my friend?" and the way they were said made his field of vision narrow until there was only Ezio's face. He held himself stiff and locked, and Ezio's grip on his arms was just short of having bruising pressure, but it was not dissatisfying. Leonardo liked the intensity. It was merely becoming a matter of controlling the situation.

"I... suppose..." he said, and relaxed a bit in Ezio's hold. The relaxation was short, however, for he did not see where Ezio's hand was sliding until it was much too late. The spark of feeling, which was neither of pleasure nor pain, removed Leonardo's daze. Somehow the candlestick fell off the desk and dipped the corner of the room in darkness.

"I'd say you're almost there. But you're so resistant." It was obvious to what Ezio was referring. Leonardo was feeling oppositional, though, and despite the throbbing that was beginning to build where Ezio stroked him (and the thought that Ezio was, in fact, stroking him, made the sensations all the more acute), he was determined to remain unhelpful unless Ezio did as he was asked.

He was surprised to find that his voice had dropped in tone when he said, "You have to make me ask for it." And Ezio was right there, his palm spread against the light dusting of hairs on Leonardo's chest, his grinning face close enough to kiss. Leonardo swallowed and looked away.

"How?" Ezio asked.

"You have to make me say your name."

"Well, that's easy." Ezio leaned back and in doing so pressed his pelvis against Leonardo's. Leonardo held his breath and almost bit off his tongue trying to avoid whimpering while he gripped the edge of the desk. He could feel Ezio's full erection pressing hot against his own growing one. "You've already said it."

"Not with pleasure," Leonardo choked.

"I knew you were always one for mischief. So I have to make you say my name with pleasure? That shouldn't be too difficult. I'll start right now. Take off your shirt." To accompany this demand, he gripped Leonardo's hips and forced a light grind. Leonardo felt himself begin to pant. If he wasn't careful, he could lose control, of both himself and the situation. The urge to accept and increase the friction was almost overwhelming.

"But," he said, his fingers shaking where they touched Ezio's arm, "I am an unwilling participant." This was some demon of self-hatred come to say these words for him—it must have been.

"Yes, but shirts get in the way," Ezio said, and traced the thin line of hair just below Leonardo's navel. He spread his palm out and dragged it up Leonardo's center line to take hold of his neck. Leonardo stiffened and swallowed again. "I mean, look. Now, if I wanted to take my arm back, I would have to go all the way back down. Shirts make everything more difficult."

"How terrible for you," Leonardo said. Ezio moved his hand to his nape and began to massage there. It felt good, so Leonardo hummed his appreciation of it. "I thought you liked things rough anyway." He gave Ezio a pointed look. Ezio paused and carefully removed his arm, then stepped away from Leonardo so that he stood in the center of the workshop. Leonardo took a moment to look at the sizable bulge in the pants Ezio was wearing before he rolled his shoulders and went toward the hallway.

He leaned against the wall there and looked at Ezio again. "Maybe not," he said. He was pleased with his ability to stay so calm, and the way Ezio was looking at him, with interest and curiosity as well as restraint and caution, made him realize how much control he really had. Perhaps it was time to take a tip from some of his models and amplify the sensuality of his movements and positions. "As an assassin, I thought you'd like everything _rough_ and _hard_." He smiled when Ezio turned toward him. "Rough treatment, rough touch, rough everything." He put his hand on the edge where the walls of the hallway and the workshop met, shielding his body from Ezio's view and creeping toward him at the same time. "But you have a weakness, my friend, and that weakness is that you like being pampered." Ezio crossed his arms and jutted out his jaw. "You like things smooth outside of your work. The only problem is, you don't know how to make things smooth."

Ezio said nothing.

"I do," Leonardo said. "It's my specialty."

Ezio took on a predatory look.

"So you're really going to have to make me say your name if you want any of that," Leonardo continued, pushing back against the wall and ignoring the fact that Ezio was stalking towards him. "Aren't you?"

He perhaps pushed a little too far, for Ezio's speed was something to behold, and Leonardo found himself pressed back once again with far more force than had been present against the desk. He expected something hot and rushed, but Ezio only hovered a few inches above him. His eyes were unreadable. Slowly, he ducked down and kissed Leonardo, then paused there, waiting.

"Oh," Leonardo said against Ezio's mouth, and Ezio took a shaking hand and cupped Leonardo's cheek with it. _He wants me to lead._ _How cute._

So Leonardo did. While Ezio's kiss against the desk had been coaxing, dry, and hot, Leonardo's kiss assumed that the participants were along for the ride and therefore was unshakeable in its rhythm. Ezio fell easily into that rhythm without forcing his own upon it. His hands and pelvis, on the other hand, seemed to have minds of their own, and they all made it increasingly difficult for Leonardo to concentrate. One hand was in his hair, keeping him occupied with the kiss, while the other moved up and down under his shirt, over his body. It made his muscles tense and flex. Leonardo was proud he was able to keep his own hands in check, though they itched for some exploration of their own. Ezio flicked a thumb over one of Leonardo's nipples and Leonardo arched his back. Then that hand swiftly reached down to pull Leonardo forward so that once again, their erections could touch. They touched hard, making Leonardo gasp into the kiss, and Ezio's other hand left his hair and dug its way underneath the hem of Leonardo's pants. He broke away from the kiss to let Leonardo finally cry out his name.

As much of a silence as could be had reigned after that, because Leonardo gritted his teeth together in frustration that Ezio had outwitted him. Ezio was merely content to stroke his friend's face and cock with such intense lust in his eyes that Leonardo felt he might combust. But there was nothing he could do, because he had to admit that he could not plan strategy when his mind and body were so preoccupied and when he was facing someone who knew how to get what he wanted. Ezio had him pressed so completely against the wall that if either of them moved, it would only cause more friction.

Leonardo couldn't help the moan that came from the feeling of Ezio's hand between his legs, unhindered.

"Looks like I got you," Ezio said against Leonardo's neck. Leonardo could feel beads of sweat from Ezio's forehead come off onto his skin.

"Looks like"—here a gasp with a voice—"you did."

Ezio did something long and hot to Leonardo's throat with his mouth, and his hand pulled away from Leonardo's pants. Leonardo felt like he was going to die of heat. "I can... I can take off my shirt now," he said.

Ezio did not stop kissing the same spot for quite some time, and with every suck Leonardo felt more heat condense in his center, fueling the heat in his groin. When he finally stopped, it was to murmur, "I thought you wanted to keep it on," before moving to kiss just below Leonardo's collarbone. He had to stoop to do this, and it gave Leonardo room to arch and writhe and groan freely. "I did trick you, after all. You're entitled to keep it on."

"I want to. I want to take it off," Leonardo said. He was beginning to get frustrated. When had he lost himself? It must have been at that first kiss against the desk, when all his desires started to revolve around this man (_and that is sinful, that is wrong_), or when he'd lured him to this spot (_they'll kill us_), or when Ezio's hands went further and further downward (_he promised_).

He supposed it didn't matter anymore. "I don't want to play anymore," he managed to say.

Ezio drew back. His smile was heady and unfocused. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Leonardo put his full weight against the wall and hung his head forward. "You _know_," he said, and he couldn't keep the nasty tone out of his voice.

"Come on," Ezio said, crossing his arms. "What's the point of being friends if we can't play around?"

Laughter bubbled out of Leonardo's chest before he could stop it. Ezio looked at him and grinned. "Ezio, that's not what I mean, either," Leonardo said. He grabbed Ezio's hand. "I don't want to stop. Just no more teasing."

"Oh."

The two of them would spend a few good hours that night experimenting with ways to avoid sodomy. Because they were both far beyond feeling awkward at that point, they laughed and joked with each other into the small hours of the morning. Leonardo only paused before going to sleep to check to make sure Ezio's bandages were still in place.


End file.
